Sunrise Over Malibu
by trek-grrrl
Summary: Oneshot, challenge fic from the ep The Hit Car. Bill and Starlett in Vegas, the year before Ralph and Bill meet. MF, other warnings for innuendo.


I've seen the characters' names spelled different ways, so I settled on Starlett Wilde and Gianni the Dancer. This is a challenge fic, based on the GAH episode "The Hit Car," the first regular episode after the Pilot. It had to include 'seascape paintings on black velvet.' Note the required phrase in the story ;) 

Number of words: 2280

This is rated 16+. Not much in detail, just a lot of innuendo and such. Het, oral, M/F, erm, uh... I think that's about it. Implied, mind you.

William Maxwell, Special Agent, FBI, had managed to finagle his way into the apartment of the girlfriend of his arch-nemesis, Gianni "the Dancer," by pretending to be one of the drug lord's contacts in Los Angeles. Maxwell had gone from L.A. to Vegas as part of his years-long quest to nail the sucker who put drugs on the streets and poisoned kids with them. He hated nothing more than this type of low-life scum, infecting the youth of America, dressing in flashy Italian suits and acting like the King of all he surveyed in the seedy underground world of drug-trafficking.

The girlfriend was the epitome of what Bill often called a "dame": beautiful, inarticulate and a moron. A blonde bombshell that had maybe two brain cells to rub together. The type of girl that usually got by in life by keeping her trap closed, her legs opened, and being generally drop-dead beautiful.

Usually.

In the case of Starlett Wilde, keeping her trap closed was near impossible. The girl talked a mile a minute about anything that'd catch her fancy. Something would catch one of those two brain cells while they were driving along the desert highways or something Bill might mention in passing, and she'd be off and jabbering.

He gritted his teeth, hoping the grinding sound would drown out her annoyingly high-pitched falsetto voice, but offered a huge smile when she turned to look at him.

The apartment was large, and the two stood in the foyer. Bill looked around suspiciously, to be sure nobody else was about.

Starlett took the glance around the place as the usual caution men dealing with her boyfriend exhibited.

"Oh, don't worry, nobody's around. Gianni'll be here in about three hours, he had some business to take care of at the Sands."

"Hmmm," Bill grunted in reply, smiling down at her once more. He towered over the girl, and had a clear view of her ample breasts and cleavage. He cleared his throat, looking away. Don't look, Maxwell, she's bad just like the Dancer. Only not as smart, thank God.

He knew it wouldn't take much to get the girl to trust him; he gave her an openly honest expression and he was pouring the charm on. This girl was used to attentions from men, so he had to give her something different: the sense of genuine interest in her as a PERSON. He figured that would break through her line of defense she had up against the advances of low-life "gentlemen" that generally surrounded her wherever she went.

She pointed to the left. "Want a drink? I got everything."

"Sure, scotch on the rocks would be good."

She led the way, and he followed behind, keeping his eyes level and not looking at her naturally swaying hips and long legs. The girl exuded sexuality, whether she intended to or not, and moved with a grace that Bill found too fascinating.

Maintain, Maxwell, he told himself firmly. She's not yours, she's a bad girl, she belongs to GIANNI da DANCER.

As they turned the corner from the short hallway into the main living area, Bill had to stop short, gazing around, his mouth agape.

He took in a sharp breath, and Starlett turned, and smiled at the look of wonder on Bill's face. Little did she realize that he was staring, in awe, of the horrendously bad taste of the place. He'd never imagined anyone actually LIVED like this, he always thought furnishings and decor such as this only existed on the sets of comedy variety shows.

The carpet was a luridly bright red, complemented by huge overstuffed couch and chairs in a sickly pale orange. The walls were bright yellow, lit up even moreso by the hot Nevada sun. A green... SOMETHING... depended from the ceiling, to end in a macrame of a beaded owl wrapped as a holder around a soon-to-be-dead plant of unknown variety. There were shelves and cabinets painted in brilliant, almost neon, blue. The whole scene was capped off with purple drapes, pulled to the side of the big picture window to let in the sun.

Starlett stood by Bill, admiring her handiwork.

"Don't you just LOVE it?" she squealed. "I wanted to go with a rainbow theme; rainbows are all the rage right now!"

"It's, um... it's..." Bill couldn't finish, and Starlett assumed he was overcome with admiration.

"I know, words can't describe, can they?"

Bill cleared his throat, scanning the area from wall-to-wall. "No, um, they sure can't."

Starlett saw him settle on the big wall full of paintings.

"Oh, those are MARVEY, aren't they?" she said, prancing over to one. She pointed to it and added, "This one's my favorite, it makes me think of being on Malibu at sunrise, the sun lighting up the night sky!"

Bill was rendered utterly speechless at her stupidity. Sunrise? At Malibu? Did this dingbat know NOTHING about the US of A? Of all the colorRedseascape paintings on black velvet/color in the big, hot room, this one was without a doubt the worst. And she homed right in on it. Should he point out to her that the Sun doesn't RISE over the water at Malibu? Maybe Miami beach, but certainly not Malibu beach.

He decided he wasn't going to burst her bubble. One of those two brain cells might fall out, and the poor girl surely couldn't spare them. He was trying to get in on her good side, and correcting her misunderstanding of basic geography and astronomy wasn't going to do it.

He wandered over to her, standing behind her.

"It certainly is VIVID, isn't it?" he commented.

She turned to look up at him, and Bill was acutely aware of his mistake: standing so close behind this very attractive but very stupid girl. A girl who so naturally flirted with the opposite sex, that she was automatically turning on her wiles, even if she "belonged" to another man.

Their mouths were only inches apart; all she'd have to do is stand on tippy-toes, and she'd be able to plant one on him. She instinctively leaned toward him, arcing her back, pushing her breasts up and out, almost touching his short-sleeved denim shirt with them.

Bill wasn't unaware of her maneuver, and nervously stepped back. As if held in close proximity to him by an invisible magnet, Starlett stepped with him, somehow managing to maintain the same uncomfortable closeness. Her blue eyes locked on Bill, almost challenging him to stop and take what she so obviously wanted to give him.

He didn't realize his attempt at getting to her was working: he wasn't pawing and fawning all over her the instant she'd told him they were alone, which only served to turn her on more. Usually she had to push men away; it was rare when she had to send out the signal of "Let's do it." And she was sending it in waves, determined to break through this older man's calm and friendly exterior.

She finally bored of the little chase around the living room, and boldly grabbed Bill by the collar of his shirt. He shifted, to hide his firearm from her, but she glanced at his chest and saw the butt of it.

She touched it, and asked, "Is that part of your job with Gianni?"

"'Course it is, whaddya think?" he said gruffly, trying to sound tough but not succeeding as well as he usually did. His body was beginning to react to her, whether his mind wanted it to or not. It'd been too long, since his wife, and his body was betraying his intellect, as if demanding, YES, NOW! DO IT!

She stroked a long manicured finger along the metal seam, not looking away from Bill's darkly greenish-brown eyes. She pursed her lips, giving him a silent "Oh" to his answer. Without even touching him, with simply being in his aura, she was impacting him tremendously. Bill looked at those lips... those shiny, full pink lips, moving together in such a perfect way for her to...

STOP IT, he told himself in his head. He moved his eyes lower, away from that sensuous and inviting mouth, only to realize he was staring once more at her breasts.

Bill glanced nervously toward the front door, then down to Starlett. "What, um... what are you doing, Starlett? I came here to talk to you about Gianni."

She continued the stroking of the gun as if he'd not spoken. The suggestive motion of her fingers, then her palm as she rubbed it enticingly against the cold metal, held Bill frozen in place. She was still staring too, her soft pink tongue moving over her gleaming mouth.

Then she did it. She reached into Bill's scotch with her finger, and dripped the amber liquid into her mouth, finishing it off by sticking the whole digit in and slowly sucking it dry.

That little maneuver cut through Bill like the sweetest, most dangerous knife, and he was gone, grabbing her shoulders, pulling her to him. He knew, as did she, it meant nothing beyond the physical gratification. Bill figured he'd deal with any guilt later on, but he was sure he wouldn't feel TOO guilty, taking Gianni's woman like this.

She gasped when he pulled her so powerfully to him, then giggled. She was used to Gianni, who was into wham-bam-thank ya ma'am, and she suspected this man would do the same. As all the men who worked for Gianni, that she found herself attracted to, did. But this guy surprised her. As urgent as his grab felt, she was surprised when he slowed down and effortlessly picked her up into his arms.

He didn't say a word; he only offered a little smirk in response to her giggle. His eyes said it all though: he wanted her, now, this instant, long or slow, didn't matter. They had three hours before Gianni was due back, and Bill could do a lot in that amount of time to make up for those long years without a woman.

They moved to the shadier, but not much cooler, part of the living room, and he put her down on the long, soft settee. Without a word, he began to undress her. She lay still, letting him enjoy the view for a few moments, but could no longer resist when she looked up and down his tall frame.

Her eyes settled on the prominent bulge in his very snug light blue jeans, and she unconsciously licked her lips in anticipation. This was definitely something she didn't get from Gianni's minions, nor Gianni himself. She wanted to revel in it while she could.

"Hmmmmm," she growled, putting her hands over his hips and pulling him against her. "C'mere."

Her movement startled Bill, and he thought he'd lose it right then and there. He let her pull him to her mouth, nipping at him through the jeans, and within seconds their positions had been reversed and she had him lying prone.

To be in the apartment of the girl who belonged to Enemy Number One, to have her literally climbing on Bill, going at him with mouth and lips and tongue and hands and everything else a girl can offer, was a power trip. He didn't stop to think or analyze, he simply let his body take control as it so desperately needed to.

When Starlett's very nimble and experienced mouth and hands held Bill on the brink, he grabbed her roughly, throwing her down, poised over her. A small thought crossed his mind, but only for a second. He couldn't believe how he was acting, what he was feeling, but the look on her face of such playfulness and desire assured him he wasn't being too hard on the girl. Yet.

He latched on to her long neck, running his lips and tongue over it, then murmured, "Starlett, let me... Let me know if I'm too hard on you." He may not LIKE the girl, but he certainly didn't want to hurt her, or leave marks for Gianni to find later and get the girl beat up or killed.

"Baby, trust me, I can take whatever you can dish. You're the best I've had in forever!" she squeaked as his mouth latched on to her breast.

His moan in reply was all she wanted to hear, and he took her word for it. For one of the few times in his life, Bill Maxwell gave completely in to carnal lust, and showed Starlett that there was something to older guys that she'd never find in her younger lovers.

Two hours later, Bill unwrapped Starlett's arms from around his sweaty chest, and reached for his discarded clothes.

"It was great, doll, but I gotta run."

"I thought you needed to see Gianni," she said, reaching for her scanty shorts and tank-top.

"Naw, I'll have to meet up with him later on. I just remembered I gotta be somewhere."

He didn't bother to mention he had a meet-up with his partner, John, at a local club. They had to trade information they'd gleaned that day about the Dancer and his associates.

"Okay," she said cheerily, not bothered in the slightest that Bill was doing the ol' love-em-and-leave-em routine. She was rather glad; less chance that Gianni would bust them if he decided to come home early.

Bill gave her a wink and a silent kiss across the big room, walked by the Malibu seascape picture one more time, and had to smile, biting his lip to keep from laughing outright at it. Oh well, one person's art, he thought. On black velvet. Whew.


End file.
